Problems With Raising Dean
by TheProfoundSilence
Summary: While Sam was rebellious and moody, nobody had ever imagined how much trouble John had dealing with his eldest son as he grew up. Just never in ways any-one could've imagined.


**PROBLEMS WITH RAISING DEAN**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything.**

 **All mistakes are my own. Constructive criticism is welcome.**

 _ **Summary: While Sam was rebellious and moody, nobody had ever imagined how much trouble John had dealing with his eldest son as he grew up. Just never in ways any-one could've imagined.**_

John prided himself on having the ability to keep his head, even while every-one around him lost theirs. Many of his friends had came back from Vietnam, but none of them as unbroken as him. Mary had once claimed that she loved that part about him the most. The one that still had the ability to dream and hope, despite his experiences to the contrary.

But, when Mary burned and died, he found himself losing his steady core. His compulsion to never falter was driven away by fear and grief and revenge. So, he did the only thing he could do when things really went down.

He found himself a new goal and focused his entirety on it; body, mind and soul.

He found about demons and monsters and almost lost himself to the madness of the world. Might just have allowed himself to if he didn't have another important goal: to protect his sons at all cost.

Sweet, little Sam with his soulful, innocent eyes. And, of course, his Dean. There were no better words to describe him.

While in the beginning, he'd lost himself to alcohol, it had been his hazel green eyes that had brought him back to the world of sanity. Back then, he hadn't talked much. Doctors said that it normal for such young children who'd suffered through trauma, and John had been too tired to look after Dean as well as Sammy.

Sammy was younger. He needed more care and simulation and that was all the logic his grief-addled mind had required. Besides, Dean looked too much like Mary. He couldn't handle that. He was ashamed but he could barely help himself and Sammy. How could he support a silent Dean as well? One who had watched his mother be killed in the most gruesome of ways.

Even years later, he was sure he wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for his eldest. His son's first words to him were, "It's okay, Dad. It'll all be okay." He was sure he'd never wept like that before. Not even after Mary's death. Through it all, his son hugged him tight.

At the time, he hadn't realized it, but when he looked back, he could remember with crystal clarity: Dean hadn't shed a single tear.

It seemed as if the universe all fell into place the day Dean started responding again. Sam no longer cried as much. And if he ever did, his big brother was all he needed to calm down. John should have been hurt by the realization, but all he felt was stark relief over this fact.

And, he'd found his purpose again. To avenge his wife's death and keep his sons safe. He didn't need to be on the look-out for his sons all the time. Dean was more than capable of looking after them all.

He was strong. He was unbreakable.

He was fiercely devoted to Sam, took John's words to heart, adapted to hunting like it was second nature and performed well enough in school to not draw undue attention. And, if CPS ever did come poking, his ability to deflect was second to none. He didn't need his father hovering over him. He was strong and independent and could carry the weight of his entire family without faltering.

Sammy followed him around like a little duckling and John sometimes felt the urge to do the same. God knows he could use that unbreakable strength.

And, somewhere along the way he stopped looking at Dean as his son. He was his best friend. In later years, Sam would accuse him of seeing Dean as a tool, but that had never been true. Sam hadn't witnessed Vietnam. He had never known war.

His strongest of friendships there had been built on trust and mutual respect. Dean trusted John to guide them in the right direction and John trusted Dean to be strong and able. To confide in his father when things went wrong and he was scared or hurt. He had always returned the same curtsey.

He had lost count of the countless nights when John had stumbled back to their motel room, injured and depressed. Dean had always been there, having safely tucked Sam to bed and a bowl of hot brew awaiting him.

He'd stitch up his gashes, clean up his wounds and patch up his bruises with unyielding, yet firm gentleness. And John would, if he were drunk or hurt or sad enough, start rambling. He'd tell him his fears, his frustrations and had once or twice even cried for good measure. But, Dean wouldn't look up from patching his wounds, eyes firmly for the task at hand.

But, there'd be a furrow at the crinkle of his eyes, in a way only he could ever pull off, and John always knew that he was just as passionately listening to his jumbled nonsense. And, when he was done, regardless of whether John said a word or not, he'd look deep in his eyes, put a comforting hand on him and tell, " _It's going to be alright, Dad."_

He had never believed that from the numerous grief counsellors who had told him so. Never accepted such words from passing strangers, because they _didn't know_ anything. But, he always believed Dean. And, he had never known Dean to look down at him for it.

So dependent was he on his son that it took him a very long time to realize that he'd been letting him down all along. When strangers or even other hunters told him so, he just waved them off because they didn't know Dean.

He knew full well that Sam needed somebody by his side. He wasn't like Dean and John always tried to be mindful of that fact. Even if he wasn't always successful. But Dean was indestructible and he didn't need coddling. Hell, he was more resilient than most hunters he met. Knowing well why they had started hunting but also mindful of why they continued hunting: saving people. Even John wasn't always clear on that regard.

The fact had first hit him when he was out hunting for a Shtriga. Dean was still only 10. He may act older, but he was still only a child. And no, John was not delusional. He knew full well that Dean was still only a child. Only, he wasn't quite sure he _knew_ it anymore, you know?

He didn't bother with anything else after that, running straight to the dingy motel they had been staying in, and why were they staying here in the first place? Weren't children supposed to deserve better? Sometimes, even he got caught up in Dean's fanatical representations because goddamnit, this was not a fairytale and they wouldn't get a happy ending if he kept making rookie mistakes like these. Hell, it wasn't even a mistake, it was just plain negligence.

He arrived just in time to save Sam from eternal sleep. Fear, panic and adrenaline coursed through his veins and he was running high on emotions. So, he wasn't very surprised when he snapped at Dean. He was however horrified when instead of defending himself, Dean lowered his head, looking ashamed and guilty and miserable.

He didn't blame Dean for doing what he'd done. He'd just been scared and he'd snapped. Even trained corps would've started getting antsy at being locked in with no end in sight. And Dean was still young, high on youth and impressionable and easily distracted. Hell, he was impressed Dean had lasted as long. Not sneaking out and trying to get away.

That was the day John had realized the extent of his negligence.

Maybe it was the push he needed to open his eyes. Maybe John was just that much of a delusional SOB. Or maybe Dean was just that good at pretending until some-one came in, tearing his walls down. But John, after a very long time in his life finally realized the limits of the invincible, saw the silent cries of the unbreakable, and finally heard his cries for attention, for help.

Unfortunately for Dean, he was no closer to understanding the silent enigma his silent 4-year-old had been. He still didn't understand him, not really.

John knew his son, of that there was no doubt. He knew his son's likes and dislikes, knew what made him tick, what made him smile. He could recognize him from a crowd, right off the bat; could even tell the tale of all of his scars, because John may be a stern father, but he was also a loving dad, and even scratched knees didn't escape his notice, no matter how negligent he might appear to be.

But, he didn't _understand_ his son. Had maybe never truly understood him. Not like Dean understood and knew his family.

John had, on more than one occasion, sneaked up on creatures that prided themselves on being the perfect hunters, chased after the fastest of monsters and killed the fiercest of murderers. But, no matter what he did, how he tried, he knew and understood that he could never hide from his son's eyes, violence promised and granted in the event of a single wrong word. But, just as gentle to his family.

He was deadly, in the stereotypical charismatic way, the ones parents warned their sons and daughters against, but ended up inevitably inviting them into the house. Dean was all that and more. He was a fearsome warrior and a great strategist.

But, John was now starting to realize, he was also just a lost little kid looking for his parents after he'd been lost in the Christmas bustle. Still that silent, grieving boy he had been oh, so many years ago, crying for help. And just like when Dean was four, John had no idea how to reach out to his son, how to soothe his anguish, after having not done so for so long.

He stopped trying to push Dean so hard, afraid he might just break him in the process, couldn't look at his son's face without seeing his failures reflected in them, without seeing Mary's disappointed eyes staring back at him.

And, he was doing it all wrong. Again.

It took him almost a month to realize it. To see that he was killing his child without meaning to. Dean started looking sad and miserable, doing his absolute best to walk in eggshells around his family. _Was trying to make up to them for the shtriga incident,_ John realized. Even flinched once when John raised his voice in an argument. John swore his son damn broke his heart that day.

John let the issue go, afraid that stirring it up might cause Dean to clamp down, or worse. His son was sometimes so unpredictable that John feared for their sanity sometimes. One word from Dean and it sometimes felt like the entire family might break down, scattered to ashes as if Dean was the only thing holding them together.

Except, John realized that maybe he should have pushed the issue. Because, Dean never let his guard down again. Ever. No matter what.

It was a little scary. But mostly, it was sad.

John tried his absolute best not to skip meetings with his sons' teachers unless he absolutely had to. He tried extra hard not to skip out on Dean's meetings.

Sam, he understood. The boy was too much like him. Stubborn and hard-willed, with pounds of good intentions heaped on top. Hunting, not for the sake of hunting, but because they had tons of self-righteous rage simmering between the two of them.

Dean was a whole new ball-game. The caustic way he approached a hunt, disappointed that people were hurt, but ecstatic to help save them; the way he could brush off outsider's opinions as if they weren't worth a damn, was both scary and deadly.

So, yes, John tried his absolute best to make sure that he attended those damn meetings. Any insight on his son was a god-send puzzle piece to help make sense of the intricate mystery that was his eldest. Too bad the puzzle pieces didn't even fit together.

 _Because he was all smoke and mirrors, and the fog wasn't letting up enough to see what lay in plain sight._

His 5th grade science teacher begged him to reconsider sending Dean to a school for gifted children. Initially, he'd been sure she was mocking Dean and felt the familiar curtail of anger curl inside of him. But, then he saw her proud, sincere eyes and felt guilt well inside of him when he promised her that he'd think about it. He thought about it a lot. He never did get around to doing it.

His 7th grade teacher was sure that if given the chance, Dean would bloom to be the brightest flower in the bouquet. He seemed a little too obsessed with flowers to be taken seriously, but John thought he had a point about Dean being bright thing. He'd never actively connected Dean with intelligence, but with so many pointing it out and Dean being alive and well till now, both pointed to the fact. He wondered why Dean felt he had to hide behind a façade even from his family. The thought was depressing.

~~~~~~~~  
His 8th grade P.T. teacher seemed to be interested in Dean for all the wrong reasons. John was extra careful to stay at home and watch out for Dean. He was starting to understand that his son might never ask for help, unless John offered it. As for Sam, he seemed set on his high horse, and nothing could pull him down. John wondered if Sam would know to lend a hand if his brother was hurting, which led him to wonder how they would ever even know if Dean "I-am-fine" Winchester was not fine.

Needless to say, John and Sam fought all the time.

After many days of agonizing tension and a final screaming match to end it all, John is sitting on his bed, feeling like a complete failure. Sammy is gonna hate him forever and Dean will follow his brother's lead, because he really is the world's shittiest father, and the world will stop spinning because it won't be okay without them, and what is he gonna do? Sometimes, he really wished that the front he presented all the time was more than just a front. Like Dean.

"Dad?", it's Dean. He sits by his side when he doesn't say anything, his green eyes compassionate and understanding. Mary always did say he was an angel.

Dean gently settles his hand on his shoulder, testing, then pulls him in a hug that John's not entirely sure Dean initiated. And, if he did, John must look shittier than usual because Dean doesn't usually doll out free hugs. Not since Sam grew up enough to stop needing them. John's sure that that's his fault too.

After a while, he whispers, "It's okay, Dad. Things are just shitty sometimes. Sam doesn't hate you. He just gets antsy, cooped up like this. He's a lot like you, you know. Rebellious bulldog, hell-bent on getting free."

Dean finally releases him, looks into his eyes, which John belatedly thought must look pretty dull as compared to Dean's raging orbs. "Stop treating him like a kid. He needs to learn how to fly. Think 'you' when you were a teen. He's like that, bleeding heart, righteous anger and the skills to back it up." And, then Dean laughs, a breathless sound and John finds himself joining in.

He doesn't worry about it again, for a long while.

They apologize to each other in the morning and a whole year passes by with minimal fights. He doesn't think they can ever come down to zero. Dean said it was because they both spoke the same language, but refused to elaborate, his eyes, grim and knowing.

Sam and him made a great team when they weren't butting heads. Sam stayed back and researched while Dean and John efficiently neutralized the threats.

When they finally put the town in the rear-view mirror, John remembers the initial reason he'd stayed home so much in the first place. Looking at Dean's sleeping figure, he feels the guilt well up in him for having let down his son yet again.

It takes him weeks to garner the courage to talk to his son about it. Dean's eyes had softened and he had promised that no-one was bringing him down and that he was _just fine._ It was hard not to believe him with his confident smirk in place. The fact that Dean had broken the teacher's nose before leaving was the cherry on top.

It took him a few weeks to figure out that Dean didn't seem too surprised or traumatized by the incident when he clearly should have. It took him even longer to figure out that his sex appeal garnered attention of both the sexes. And not always the flattering one. He never garnered the courage to ask him about it.

It took him long to find the courage to ask Dean why he had taken so long in stepping in their fight when the tensions had been high for so long. He had smiled his enigmatic smile and said that they had needed it. John couldn't argue that.

When Sam ran away to Flagstaff, the fear he felt was all-encompassing. He chugged down a bottle and screamed himself senseless at Dean. He might have even hit him. He wasn't sure about it. But, when he woke up again, Dean pressed Advil and water into his hand and whispered that he knew where to go. He coaxed John out of bed and guided him.

John never really knew or understood what happened that night and he wasn't sure he wanted to. So, when they got Sam and had a screaming match under Dean's ever-watchful eye, he pretended nothing did.

He didn't apologize and Dean didn't demand one. He never asked what happened and Dean never offered.

But, sometimes he wondered.

When Dean got caught and sent to a house, the only reason John didn't do anything was because he was ashamed. What kind of a father was he?! He didn't even want to know how many times Dean had to resort to stealing food (food?!) because he had that much of a deadbeat father.

Maybe it'd be best for Dean to stay away from their lives. He'd hauled ass to Jim's and had been screamed at so many times, he thought his eardrums would burst.

But, at the end, he couldn't live without Dean.

 _Sometimes John thought he knew him. Sometimes he thought he could read him. But, the truth was he was only ever predictable in his unpredictability. Unless it came to family._

 **So, this is my second work. Let me know what you guys think.**


End file.
